


take our chances (i forgot how nice romance is);

by maidenstar



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3374054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidenstar/pseuds/maidenstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The play unravelled in front of them, and there wasn’t much time to share words, but that didn’t mean they did not speak in the darkness.</p><p>The night had a dramatic structure all of its own." </p><p> <i>Angie and Peggy go for a date at the theatre.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	take our chances (i forgot how nice romance is);

**Author's Note:**

> (written to fill a prompt on tumblr, of 'angie + peggy + on a ~cute date~ at the theater', i'm at [angiemartinnelli](http://angiemartinnelli.tumblr.com/), feel free to check it out if you're so inclined!)

Peggy never really went to the theatre much.

It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy it, or that she didn’t find it a worthy pastime, more that she very rarely had much time _to_ pass. She was always so active that it felt quite strange to sit down for an hour or two and just be still.

Or it used to. Before Dooley and everyone else had caged her in with just an ever-growing pile of paperwork for company.

Not that her night-time escapades with Jarvis weren’t utterly thrilling of course, but it wasn’t quite the same. Not really.

She got restless, sometimes, no matter how much she tried to avoid the fact.  

.

.

.

.

“English? Come on, we’re going to be late!” Angie’s frantic, heavy knocks were relentless upon the front door.

“Just a moment Angie!”

Selecting her nicest pair of shoes and slipping them on, Peggy rolled her eyes to herself and smiled fondly. She valued punctuality as much as the next person, but they were in little danger of being late.

Angie’s brand of restlessness was completely different to Peggy’s. Big eyes, open hands, trying to catch as much of life in her palms as she could. Always trying to keep it from slipping between her fingers.

Angie was swift movement, fitting too much into tiny spaces; bouncing from foot to foot, breathless sentences packed tight with words pouring out too fast. Bottles of Schnapps and stolen pies wrapped up in diner napkins. Blissful restlessness, painting sunbeams upon Peggy’s restive exhaustion. Frenetic; fast; staccato.

“See?” Peggy asked, teasing, as she opened the door and stepped into the hall. “Ready. And with plenty of time to spare.” She turned after checking to make sure the door was locked, and took in Angie properly for the first time.

“Angie you look lovely,” she said earnestly. The words tumbled out, quickly and quite without any forethought. Angie’s face lit up at this, looking even more beautiful than the moment directly before. Delicate pink blush tapered around to high, proud cheekbones, sat beneath light, attentive eyes. The sweet pink patterned dress, cinched and delicately stitched at the waist looked striking against Angie’s complexion, matched perfectly by soft red lips and light brown curls.

“You look pretty great too, Peg,” she replied, still grinning, as she looped her arm through Peggy’s and led her towards the stairs.

.

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The streets were damp and the roadways shone with bright reflections of the sparkling Broadway lights, and as pretty a sight as it all made, Peggy was happy to duck into the theatre and out of the heavy mist of drizzle that threatened to undermine all the work put into pinned-back curls and painstaking makeup.   

It had been so long since Peggy had been somewhere like this, she’d forgotten the atmosphere that came with being inside a theatre, and she felt she better understood Angie’s impulse to come, her insistence that they make use of the tickets a friend had given her.

The hush of spectators’ voices spoke a language of its own, a language of anticipation as people sat in groups bent inwards, everyone leaning close to speak to each other, bodies curled into soft red velour. The theatre was far from the biggest, most famous venue on Broadway, but the thick, heavy drapes set around the room at intervals gave the place a heightened sense of class with their bold, burgundy fabric and delicate golden detail.

The air was thick as trails of smoke meandered through the air, snaking outwards from the glowing buds of light that stood out starkly in the dimmed room, and the haze parted around them as they made their way across the floor.

Their seats weren’t the best in the house – quite far back from the stage and tucked at the end of the row – but Peggy found she didn’t mind as Angie settled down next to her, craning over to speak, her body much closer to Peggy’s than it strictly needed to be.

Suddenly, Peggy found herself overly aware of every point where her body met with Angie’s, the warmth of the contact between them as they sat shoulder to shoulder, Angie’s left calf grazing against Peggy’s right. She was lost to whatever it was Angie was saying, not listening, too captivated by soft skin and sweet scent, _not listening at all_ , and after a moment Angie seemed to catch her distracted.

The two shared a significant look, and Peggy watched Angie’s gaze dart between Peggy’s lips and eyes. There was something magnetising in the moment, and the pull between them, unnoticed by so many strangers in the room, was pure theatre in itself.

They were spared whatever would have followed – the exhibition and, probably, the scandal – by the thrum of the orchestra striking up its first few chords. Angie practically jumped back, scalded by the heat between them, but as the lights dimmed further, there was no surprise or regret on her face, just more excitement as the play hovered on the cusp of opening up before them.

Peggy remembered then that this was Angie’s love, the theatre, and suddenly felt privileged and glad that Angie had chosen to share it with her.

.

.

.

.

The play unravelled in front of them, and there wasn’t much time to share words, but that didn’t mean they did not speak in the darkness.

The night had a dramatic structure all of its own.

 _Exposition_. Peggy tried to watch, cared as much about the play as she did about being there with Angie, but the heat of their bodies as they sat together was too distracting. Peggy felt full to bursting with something she couldn’t describe, something ineffable, and she was scared to move in case she disturbed the peace that had settled over them, soft as gossamer.

 _Rising action_. Angie shifted halfway through the second act, moving her arm up to the armrest between the two of them. Angie’s hand pressed close to Peggy’s, fidgeting, her skin cool as her fingers darted out over Peggy’s, skimming back and forth.

They lingered only for a second, drawing back so fast Peggy wondered if she’d imagined it entirely.

 _Climax_. For a reason she wasn’t quite sure of, Peggy turned to face Angie as the action peaked, and she couldn’t hold back a smile when she saw the look Angie was wearing.

Her eyes were shining, her whole face alight as she watched, captivated by the events unfolding in front of them on the stage.

It wasn’t only the story, Peggy could tell that much without having to ask. The script was good, the acting solid, but it was more than that. Angie had so much love for this craft, for this environment, found such enjoyment in the very _feeling_ of hearing these stories.

Angie was so passionate about it all, and she practically shone with it. It was such a beautiful moment and a burst of emotion flared in Peggy’s chest, so large it caught in her throat.

 _Falling action_. Her glances grew less infrequent, less covert and Angie caught her looking, probably because she was stealing glances at the side of Peggy’s face just as often.

 _Dénouement_. Finally, finally, _finally_ , Angie turned her palm over, slipping it beneath Peggy’s hand against the armrest and gripping tight like she was slipping, and needed something to hold on to.

.

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They tumbled out of the theatre a little while later, slightly dizzy on post-show euphoria. Angie’s hand was still clasped around Peggy’s and, as they walked along, she slowly linked their fingers together. Peggy threw her a knowing sideways glance which drew the blood to Angie’s cheeks, but few others batted an eyelid as the two of them hurried along, looking to hail a cab.

“If we’re quick, we can still make it back before curfew,” Peggy murmured, more to herself than anything, but Angie hummed her assent anyway. Clear skies gave them a merciful reprieve from all the rain, but it was still chilly outside, and Angie crowded closer to Peggy as a cab finally moved to pull over for them.

Peggy checked her watch constantly as they drove along in relative silence, Angie reaching out and fiddling absently with the hem of Peggy’s dress. It wasn’t that Peggy cared about breaking curfew, or about sneaking in, more that she didn’t want to break this moment by invoking Ms Fry’s wrath, or having to scale a drainpipe to get back inside.

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They made it with mere seconds to spare, Peggy paying the cab driver and dodging Angie’s protests that they split the fare (‘ _you got the tickets Angie, it’s the least I can do_ ’). They ducked inside and noticed that Ms. Fry’s office was still alight. They shared a glance, both keen to avoid getting on their landlady’s radar any more than they had already.

Fry called out, an assertive cry of “ _now who’s that just coming in at this hour_?”, her tone steeped with irritation.

Taking Peggy completely by surprise, Angie grabbed her hand once more, tugging her towards the stairs and whispering, “come on, quickly,” a mischievous grin daubed across her face.

Peggy caught the sounds of Ms. Fry making her way to the door of her office just as the two of them ran, darting up stairs and round corners until they flew onto the third floor corridor. Peggy ran faster than Angie, naturally, and they weren’t quite coordinated enough as Angie stopped, evidently assuming they were safe as they neared Peggy’s room. Her sudden halt caught Peggy off guard, however, and she barreled into Angie, her extra momentum carrying them right to the door of her room.

They stood there for a moment, bodies pressed flush together, laughing breathlessly. Peggy’s smile stuck then slowly faded as she registered the sensation of Angie’s chest heaving against her own, right as Angie seemed to have the realisation that she is caught between Peggy’s body and the door. 

There was a brief moment before Angie’s lips crashed against hers that Peggy found herself afraid. Found herself thinking of Steve, of Colleen, of everyone she’d ever lost and she felt her heart race at the thought that it could happen to Angie. For a split second she considered backing away. Angie would be hurt, of course. Hurt and confused and probably angry. _But she’d be safe_.

But it felt an absurd thought to hurt someone she cared so dearly for. Peggy was tired of fighting it, tired of being alone. She was hardly a social butterfly, but total isolation did not suit her at all. She wanted this, wanted Angie, and when was the last time Peggy Carter had done something completely selfish, just because _she_ wanted it? She couldn’t honestly remember.  

Angie’s lips were soft, but she kissed with purpose, kissed like she was trying to prove a point. She kissed with her whole body, kissed with the knee she forced between Peggy’s legs, with one hand tangled in Peggy’s hair, and with the other at Peggy’s waist.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew them apart as they realised Ms. Fry was making an attempt to catch whoever it was that had come home so late, that she was probably on the warpath and would likely die of fright to find two of her tenants kissing in the corridor at night.

Lipstick smeared across her cheek and feeling a little like a teenager discovering love for the first time, Peggy fumbled with her key in the lock, finally getting the door open and backing Angie inside, the door slamming carelessly shut behind them.

She still felt rather afraid of putting Angie at risk, and vowed internally to do everything necessary to keep her from harm’s way, but the play was over, the lines were all delivered, the script completely finished.

It was time to improvise instead. 


End file.
